


Death of an Immortal

by EthanTheAnnus



Series: I think therefore I am [1]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Fake Character Death, Friendship, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Immortality, Immortals AU, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Suicide, semi-follows canon, this is only the beginning i have so much planned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-17 12:08:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28724856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EthanTheAnnus/pseuds/EthanTheAnnus
Summary: “You expect me to believe you?” is the first thing Quackity says.Schlatt’s eyes narrow. “You expecting me to fuckin’ prove it?”“No.” Quackity takes a half-pace back, eyes widening a little like he’s appalled by the very thought. “It’s just… A little hard to believe, okay?”-OR-The first part of my AU; Schlatt realises he's immortal. Manberg is blown to all hell.
Relationships: Alexis | Quackity & Jschlatt
Series: I think therefore I am [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2105787
Comments: 2
Kudos: 54





	Death of an Immortal

**Author's Note:**

> yo!!! this is a wholeass au i've been mapping out the tl to!!! i have a lot of content to put out for this :)

Schlatt isn’t a good person. He knows this, and he thrives on it. Embraces his choices, his mistakes, the anger and misery he inflicts on those around him. 

It’s like a power he carries with him. A trail of pain left in his wake, skyrocketing him up into a position of power. He knows how to use those around him, to manipulate them into letting him take control.

It’s why he stands as President now. He claims to have a way to solve their problems, to ease their suffering, and so they trust him. Follow him willingly.

The truth? He knows nothing. He’s walking in blind, with little clue of what he’s doing. Schlatt’s far too proud to ever admit that to anyone but himself, though.

If anything, Quackity has more of an idea how to lead than he does. Schlatt defers duties and command to his Vice more often than not, then takes the credit for the plans and solutions Quackity offers up to the public.

It’s a dick move. Schlatt knows it. Knows he’s fooling everyone just to keep control over them. But nothing in him can seem to care.

All he cares for his power. The misery he can spread to keep that control. The way he speaks and everyone listens.

He’s a minor god by his own right, by his own design. And he’ll do anything to keep it that way.

*******

The sun shines bright enough to make the grass sparkle. Schlatt stares out over the ravine, standing just inches from the edge. There’s valuable ores down there, things his land could certainly use, but it’s not why he’s here.

Schlatt has one life left. He’s sick of drinking himself stupid, sick of ruling a land of people who keep causing problem after problem. So he stands here. Contemplating.

He’s too cowardly to step off himself. He’s weak, and always has been, despite the display of power, despite everything.

“Fuck.” Schlatt takes a half pace back from the edge. “I’m a coward.”

There’s a hissing noise behind him, and Schlatt barely turns in time to see the creeper before it explodes, the blast pushing him off the edge. He tumbles down weightlessly through the sky, and the only thought in his mind is how funny it is that, in the end, he’s gotten his wish. But then he hits the ground, and his bones don’t crack, his skull doesn’t shatter. There’s no blood.

He slowly, cautiously, gets to his feet. Nothing hurts. He looks up at the fall that should have killed him, a drop of over fifty blocks.

The realisation that he’s somehow, inexplicably, immortal knocks the breath out of him. He has no out anymore; at least, definitely not in the way he’d hoped. But, he realises slowly, now no one can hurt him ever again.

A grin tugs at his lips, curving up into a crooked smile. It’s time for him to crawl out of this godforsaken ravine and find his Vice.

***********

Quackity does nothing for a moment but stare. Schlatt shifts a little, feeling scrutinized under his gaze.

_ Note to self; immortality does  _ not  _ take away the feelings of awkwardness. _

“You expect me to believe you?” is the first thing Quackity says.

Schlatt’s eyes narrow. “You expecting me to fuckin’ prove it?”

“No.” Quackity takes a half-pace back, eyes widening a little like he’s appalled by the very thought. “It’s just… A little hard to believe, okay?”

Schlatt sighs, and drops heavily into one of the chairs; they’re in Quackity’s house, in the kitchen. “Yeah, I know.”

There’s silence for a moment. Quackity takes a seat across from him, carefully meeting Schlatt’s gaze.

“So,” he says slowly, “How’d you work it out?”

Schlatt breathes in. “Get me a drink.”

Quackity doesn’t move. “We need a sober President.”

Schlatt’s lips twist into a snarl. “I said get me a drink.”

“And I said no.”

Schlatt growls, and pushes himself to his feet. Quackity stands too, staring him down. It’s then that Schlatt registers that his Vice stands between him and the small store of alcohol.

“What’re you gonna do, kill me?” Schlatt asks him with a small, mirthless laugh. Quackity holds his gaze, unwavering.

“We need a strong leader. We’re on the verge of war; you know there’s trouble coming.”

“What, from Tommy and Wilbur?” Schlatt laughs again. “They’re not a threat.”

“Not yet.”

There’s a seriousness to Quackity’s tone that Schlatt has rarely heard before, and it’s enough to make him drop back into his seat. He lets out a heavy sigh, abandoning any plans he’d had to get past Quackity.

“I fell down a ravine.” He meets Quackity’s gaze again, who’s still standing. “No water at the bottom. I should have died, and I didn’t.”

Quackity breathes out slowly. “Okay. Okay.”

For a moment, Schlatt realises how grateful he is to have Quackity here. They’ve been friends for a good while now, and there’s no one he’d trust more to aid him in this position. 

_ No one, _ he thinks, as Quackity starts brainstorming counter-attack plans aloud,  _ who I’d prefer to take my place if anything were to happen to me. _

********

Schlatt hates his plan. It’s been nearly two weeks since he discovered his immortality, and little over a week since Quackity turned out to be right; since Wilbur had pressed the button and blown half the country to all hell. Now, Schlatt stands on a rocky shore, a knife clutched firmly in one hand, a limp body at his feet.

The person he killed is no one of importance. One of the farmers in a village not far from their country, someone who’s so easily replaced they won’t even be missed. The place Schlatt stands now is unreachable by mortals. He’d jumped down here, a seventy or more block fall onto harsh, pointed rocks.

He lifts the knife shakily up towards the side of his own head. If he’s going to do this, it has to be convincing. He bites back a scream as he begins to saw at the base of one of his horns; it’ll grow back, eventually, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt to cut them off.

It takes him about five minutes to saw through. He’s shaky as he gently positions the horn with the body; he’s dressed the dead man in a suit, and chose someone whose body type was close to his own. From the top of the cliff, it should look like him. 

He’s a little hesitant to saw off his other horn, too, but does it anyway. He can’t back out now anyway.

Again, he positions the horn next to the head of the dead man. Then, he steps back to admire his work. It stings to know he can’t tell anyone he’s doing this, not even Quackity. Who’s going to think he died.

If there’s anyone he’d want to tell, it’s Quackity. But it’s better if no one knows. No one to reveal that he’s still alive.

He looks back up at the cliff, looming tall over him, and then he throws himself into the sea, ready to let the current take him wherever it pleases.

*********

It’s dark. Quackity holds a torch in his hand, checking the country borders. Schlatt’s been missing the whole day, and it’s starting to worry him. The cliff overlooking the sea looms ahead of him, a sharp drop down to nothing but death.

He swallows thickly before looking over the edge. For a moment, he sees nothing; then his eyes fall on a dimly lit, very still figure sprawled across the rocks. Horns curl from the side of their head, and dried blood splatters around them.

Quackity claps a hand over his mouth before he can make a sound, biting down on the skin of his palm as he drops onto his knees. He’s found him. He’s found him, and he’s dead.

Schlatt obviously wasn’t as immortal as he thought he was.

Quackity fails to bite back a sob this time. They’d fought, time and time again, but they’d been friends. It was a knife to the gut seeing one of the few people he trusted dead.

Quackity wishes he knew how to pull himself together in this moment, but he doesn’t. He’ll have to soon enough, though; he’s got to take over now. To step up in Schlatt’s place.

The thought is mortifying, and feels wrong, but what choice does he have? The people need a leader, and it’s not his place to deny them one. So he’ll do it; if not for them, but for Schlatt’s sake.

As he makes the decision, he’s almost sure he can feel Schlatt’s presence, can see his small, approving smile, can hear his laugh. Like he’s not dead, and is there with him. Quackity lifts his head.

He’s going to be strong, for the sake of himself, and everyon


End file.
